Excuses
by freedom
Summary: Sixth Year----Draco's POV----Draco's tough decisions against a backdrop of war, violence, fear and lies-----review, people, review!------*H/D slash*
1. PART ONE: chapter one

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
you'll never know, dear  
  
just how much I loved you  
  
you'll probably think this was  
  
just my big excuse  
  
- ani di franco  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I'm sure if I tried a bit harder, I could think of an excuse. I've spent my life carefully constructing explanations, smoothing over my own insecurities with illogical logic. The shame of lying to myself never completely fades, but it is easy enough to detach emotion from action. It is a truth I confine to a little black box in my mind, the place where all inconvenient realities are trapped and tied down.  
  
So why am I struggling to lock this new slice of hard truth away? What makes it any different?  
  
I stare at the back of his head and will it to move. I need those green eyes, I need to let them soak up my frustration like a sponge.  
  
His black hair looks greasy around the nape of his neck. It's too long, he increasingly lives up to his orphan status. Hoping for a sympathy fuck, I'll bet...Freak.  
  
Merlin, so much anger. It's better to just stop thinking.  
  
I wish McGonagall would shut up. I haven't got the energy today. My sixth year in this dump and I am itching to get out. I sit up at night and plan escape routes like a prisoner in Azkaban. Futile, though - I'd never get past Hogsmeade. Malfoys are cowards, if nothing else.  
  
The room falls silent as McGonagall barks out instructions for notes. I blink a few times in an attempt to clear my buzzing head. The room fills with the incessant scratching of quills and sharp pains shoot from my temples. McGonagall is twirling her wand from hand to hand with a soft whooshing, and Potter is drumming his fingers on the shiny desk like a pianist. The dull taps grow louder and louder in my skull, making me want to scream -  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
It was supposed to be a whisper, but something is wrong. Every neck is craned towards my corner of the room, every set of ears perked in anticipation. They are dogs. Weasley's lip curls into a canine snarl.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall glowers. Is it too late to pretend nothing has happened?  
  
"Nothing, Miss."  
  
She glares at me for a few seconds longer before returning to her wand. I'm surprised; if that had been Snape -  
  
The bell pierces through my thoughts and my stomach sinks in relief.  
  
"Class dismissed."  
  
As I am moving to the doorway, a black-haired figure steps in front of me.  
  
"Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth," Potter says slowly.  
  
I can hear Weasley snickering in the background.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Blaise Zabini is skulking outside the door to my room.  
  
"Draco, I just wanted to - " he falters when he sees my face. If I'm lucky, the scowl alone will get rid of him without the effort of saying bugger off.  
  
"I just wanted to borrow your razor," he finishes in one breath. I shove past him to the door with the intention of slamming it in his face.  
  
"Hey, I heard about the hard time that bitch McGonagall gave you," he says conversationally. I don't consider the consequences - I turn and my fist connects with his nose. I give the door a satisfying slam for effect.  
  
Morgaine's ears are up, alerted by the noise. She purrs gently as I run my hand through her black fur, letting some of the tension drain out of me. My head is thumping woodenly.  
  
Morgaine is a haphazard companion in my small room. I don't know where she goes or what she eats, nor do I wonder. She always returns eventually, materializing by the bed when I sleep or leave the room. She doesn't need doors.  
  
I have waited five years for the luxury of a private dorm. It wasn't difficult to be elected Prefect; the Slytherin morons voted me in, my academic records took care of the rest. An effortless campaign for a meaningless position. The rest of the student body can transform each other into rats for all I care. I rather wish some of them would.  
  
If nothing else, it was worth it solely to see the look on Potter's face. He couldn't believe Dumbledore let me through. The crimson anger spread across his cheekbones and he pursed his lips so hard they turned a moist scarlet, and...  
  
Enough, Malfoy. Not tonight.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I am climbing the stairs on my way to dinner when Snape clutches my elbow. I resist the urge to squirm away from his repulsive grip as he steers me back down the stairway.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Come with me, Mr Malfoy."  
  
Snape's office is comfortably warm but as dim as the rest of the dungeons, lit only by the firelight from the hearth. I am always loathe to enter this squalid space; there are scrolls flooding the teacher's desk and the whole room reeks of mothballs and...old men. I wonder briefly about Snape's age.  
  
He lifts a pile of books off a chair and beckons me to sit. I can see the dust particles ascend as I lower my weight to float around my head. Snape settles down behind the massive desk, clearing a space for his folded hands among the scrolls.  
  
"Blaise Zabini is presently being treated by Madam Pomfrey for a broken nose. Care to explain to me what happened?"  
  
No. "I'm not sure, Sir." His eyes darken visibly, but I allow mine to leave his gaze and wander the room.  
  
"Draco," he spits, drawing my eyes back to his face. "This is the third incident this term."  
  
I battle the urge to shrug nonchalantly and say 'so what?'  
  
He pauses and bores his eyes into mine. "One more," he says, "and your parents will be coming to collect you."  
  
"They know?" I try to speak slowly, but he can hear the panic in my voice.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
A sigh of relief slips through my lips and Snape's eyes soften slightly.  
  
"However, Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you tomorrow afternoon. One p.m., precisely." And he ushers me out of the room before I can respond.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Standing on the other side of Snape's door, I let my breath out slowly. Fuck. What's worse? Lucius, Dumbledore, Lucius, Dumbledore....  
  
"Errr..." Suddenly I feel exhausted, as if there is concrete running through my veins. I drag my feet up the stairs and stand at the door to the Great Hall. Dinner is well underway, but the smells wafting through the doorway make my stomach turn. I slump against the stone arch and scan the tables from my shadowed position. Zabini is absent, I can only guess he is still sulking over his nose. Pansy is crooning over Crabbe and Goyle is swallowing food so fast I wonder how he has time to chew. He coughs suddenly, choking on a mouthful, and Crabbe leans over to slap him heavily on the back.  
  
The Griffyndors roar with laughter and I allow my eyes to travel down their table. Weasley is standing on his stool, making a fool of himself. McGonagall orders him to sit down without leaving her seat at the teacher's table.  
  
Potter is apparently oblivious to the raucous. His head is down, staring at his plate, and he pushes his food around with a fork, distractedly. Mentally, a tug at his hair, urging him to look up, but he doesn't move. Granger leans across and taps him on the shoulder gently, and the deep furrows in his brow smooth out. I can see his mouth move into a smile.  
  
I pull myself out of the reverie and move away from the door, not hungry in the least. My footsteps echo through the empty Entrance Hall as I walk out of the door and into the snow.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
The grounds are coated in white, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night sky. The ice on the lake groans and creaks quietly and I shiver as a wolf's howl rings through the Dark Forest. Coward.  
  
I'm too tired to walk any further. I sink cross-legged onto the snow, wrapping my cloak around me like a cocoon. The light wind bustles across my cheeks and freezes the tears in their path. Reaching inside my jumper, I pull forth the small bottle of vodka and scull its contents in a futile attempt to drown myself. 


	2. chapter two

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
you'll never know, dear  
  
just how much I loved you  
  
you'll probably think this was  
  
just my big excuse  
  
- ani di franco  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
The next morning I'm so hung-over I can barely sit up. It's Saturday, thank the gods.  
  
I'm having difficulty remembering when, and how, I made it back to the dungeons. My clothes are still damp from the snow and I've slept with my cloak and boots on. I glare at the clock on the wall until it comes into focus -- 9:30 am. I still have an hour to make it to breakfast.  
  
The mirror murmurs a soft tsk tsk as I step into view. My eyes are circled with dark patches and my hair hangs limp. At the corner of my mouth there is a trace of what looks suspiciously like vomit. Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth, Potter's voice mutters in my head.  
  
"Shut up," I snarl to no one in particular. Scowling, I drag myself off to the Prefect's bathroom.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
More than a few heads turn as I stalk into the Great Hall half an hour later. I've hidden the bags under my eyes with a subtle illusion spell and my skin is glowing healthily as a result. I no longer gel my hair back in an oily imitation of my father, and today it hangs loosely around my face. I can feel my jeans clinging to my arse as I move and the feeling of eyes upon my body is exhilarating. My head is pounding from last night's binge, but they don't need to know that.  
  
I slide into my usual territory and eye the array of foods. Bacon, eggs, porridge......better to reach for the safe option. I move in on a piece of plain toast.  
  
"Draco, love, long night?" Pansy simpers across the table. Her tongue flicks through her teeth to catch the stray drop of butter on her lips before snaking away again. I resist the urge to shudder and instead glance away. Zabini is glowering darkly over his cereal and I feel a pang of guilt, but when he raises his head his nose looks no different to normal. Pomfrey has been working her magic once again.  
  
The hostility hovering about me at the Slytherin table is no longer a surprise. My isolation has been an unspoken and deliberate process since the day I was elected Prefect. It was inevitable, really; pre-arranged friendships have short life spans. Still, even pretending to have friends is less lonely than admitting to none at all. Crabbe and Goyle will not so much as look up from their meals to greet me, now. It is evident they prefer to follow each other than a Malfoy. I would not hold it against them.  
  
Chewing meticulously, I allow my eyes to follow their usual route across the room to the Gryffindor table. With fifteen minutes left of breakfast, the Happy Harry Gang have already finished and departed to attend to their.....Happy Harry Stuff. What can anybody possibly have to rush off to around here on a Saturday?  
  
Whatever they do and I don't, obviously. That's what they rush off to.  
  
Scraping my stool back, I stuff the last morsel of toast into my mouth and stand slowly. Giving the hall a final scan, my eyes meet Dumbledore's and I feel suddenly ill again. I had completely forgotten the meeting in a little over two hours. As I move towards the doorway nobody wishes me goodbye.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
My headache begins to fade with some food in my stomach and I feel more alert than I have been all week. I begin to construct a list in my mind of the places Potter and company are most likely to be.  
  
Harry Hunting is my most recent and bizarre obsession. Going for days without speaking to anyone can become murderously boring, and watching others socialise is strangely addictive. It is with a delirious mix of curiosity and hatred that I spy on the small group of Griffyndors going about their daily business. I have myself convinced it is for purely scientific purposes. Not to mention absolutely normal. After all, we are all voyeurs at heart.  
  
I begin with a visual search of the endlessly white grounds, noting that the groundskeeper's hut is dark and closed up. Then I check the massive library for any bushy-haired bookworms, followed by the Kitchens where Weasley can too often be found gorging himself. The Astronomy Tower is empty, as is the Entrance Hall, but it is as I am moving back towards the Great Hall that I hear a distinctly Granger-like argument echoing down the right-hand staircase.  
  
"If you would stop pulling faces and listen up for once, Ron, then maybe you wouldn't be in this situation!"  
  
I ascend the staircase slowly, considering the hiding places I already know of.  
  
"Oh, so now this is an opportunity for the great bloody Hermione to prove what an adept student she is, is it? Please, please, never mind that this is about me!"  
  
I run my hand along the smooth banister and eye off the dark alcove behind a statue.  
  
"Bloody hell, Ron, stop being so self-pitying and useless, and go and do something about it for once!"  
  
I know there's a classroom around here somewhere. If I could just sneak through the door...  
  
"Easy enough for you to say, fucking spock."  
  
"Ron, you come back here!"  
  
"Get stuf--"  
  
He stops mid-sentence at the top of the stairs to stare at me. I am crouched halfway down the staircase, the guilt written all over my face.  
  
"Right there, Malfoy?" It is an effort to steel myself against the danger in his eyes as I stand up.  
  
"Just fixing my boot," I mutter lamely and move past him as swiftly as I can.  
  
"Bleeding faggot," he says sharply behind me.  
  
There is no pause between the welling anger in my chest and the moment I turn and jump on him. We tumble down the stairs heavily, but somehow I don't notice the sharp pain in my head. He turns effortlessly as we hit the stone floor and swings his fist into my jaw. Ignoring the blood trailing from my mouth, I concentrate all of my strength upwards and throw him off me so hard he skids across the floor. Leaping over and straddling his torso with my legs, we wrestle against the hard stone before I free one hand and smash my fist into his face. My arm swings again and again, pounding his skull like a punching bag, until I realise he is limp in my grip. Pulling myself away, it occurs to me that he has been limp for some time. His face is unrecognisable.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Somebody is screaming behind me. I turn to look at Granger just as McGonagall comes running down the stairs. My fists are covered in blood. 


	3. chapter three

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
you'll never know, dear  
  
just how much I loved you  
  
you'll probably think this was  
  
just my big excuse  
  
- ani di franco  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore's office is a strangely cramped space. The walls are lined with an eclectic collection of magical paraphernalia and behind his desk a magnificent phoenix grooms itself. The old Professor sits behind a huge oak desk cluttered with objects that look suspiciously like junk. He is unassuming in his manner; anybody who didn't know better could be forgiven for mistaking him for the Headmaster's clerk.  
  
He using silence as a ploy to make me speak, but I refuse to admit it is getting to me. I concentrate on setting my face like stone and sitting perfectly still. Any moment now my foot will begin tapping nervously.  
  
"So, Mr Malfoy," he finally says, unmoving. "Can you explain to me what happened?"  
  
I push away the sudden feeling of deja vu and speak perhaps a bit too sharply; "I think you already know that, sir."  
  
To my surprise, a small smile lights up his face with kindness. What sort of sucker does he think I am?  
  
"You do realise, Draco, that this sort of offence will most likely result in expulsion."  
  
Of course I've realised. I'm fucking terrified. If I get kicked out of here I quite possibly will not have a home to return to.  
  
"Is there anything you would like to -"  
  
His words are cut off abruptly as the door to his office swings open so hard it slams against the wall.  
  
"Excuse my interruption, Professor, but there are a few things you should know," Potter pants as he sweeps through the doorway.  
  
Dumbledore examines the new arrival, and I wait for the backlash that never comes. Instead, the Headmaster motions to a chair and invites Potter to sit.  
  
"Go ahead, Harry."  
  
The boy takes a deep breath and launches into a hurried explanation.  
  
"You see, sir, Hermione told me everything, and I thought you should know that..."  
  
I must have missed something here. What the hell does this have to do with my future at Hogwarts?  
  
"...and then they both fell down the stairs, and Ron swung the first punch..."  
  
I've entered an alternate reality. Or at least lost my grip on this one.  
  
"...so, you see, there was more to it, and..."  
  
More to it? I beat your best friend senseless.  
  
"...well, I just thought you should know all of the facts," he finishes.  
  
Dumbledore taps his fingers on the desk thoughtfully.  
  
"Thank you, Harry. You may be excused." The boy nods obediently and leaves, pulling the door gently behind him. My eyes travel back to the old man.  
  
"Well, in light of that information, Mr Malfoy, we can make a clearer decision about your future. I think you owe Mr Potter a thank you." I'm still trying to catch up. "Sir?"  
  
"I will inform your parents of this misdemeanor, and this will serve as a stern warning. Professor Snape will organise your punishment."  
  
"I'm not leaving?"  
  
He shakes his head kindly and my whole body turns to jelly with relief. Oh, thank the gods.  
  
"However," he adds, "I have been hearing some perturbing reports about your behaviour of late."  
  
This was inevitable.  
  
"Many of the staff seem to feel you are a very angry person, Draco."  
  
My eyes widen. Me? An angry person?  
  
"Is there anything you would like to discuss with me, Draco?"  
  
No, you doddering old twit. Not if my life depended on it.  
  
"No, thank you, sir."  
  
He sighs softly, and I feel I have somehow disappointed him.  
  
"Well, then, you may be excused."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I feel dizzy walking down the stairs of Dumbledore's office. My head is a whirlpool of thoughts, and I feel as though I am moving inside a dream. Over and over again a little voice in my head asks 'what just happened?'  
  
Oh great. There's Potter. Waiting next to the statue to gloat about his heroic efforts to save a lost cause.  
  
"What happened?" he asks. I examine his face for a touch of malice, but he seems genuine.  
  
"Excuse me?" I reply, and stroll past him.  
  
"What did he say?" He is following me down the corridor like a stray dog.  
  
"I'm not expelled."  
  
"That's great!" Merlin, he's irritating. I stop and face him suddenly, and he skids to a halt.  
  
"Thank you." That took a little too much effort. But he is smiling now, and maybe he will leave me alone. I start walking again.  
  
"Any time, Malfoy!" My stomach turns in repulsion.  
  
"Potter," I turn to him and enunciate each word carefully. "I do not need a hero." He falls silent, and I walk away once again.  
  
"You know what your problem is, Malfoy?" Oh, here we go. "Your problem is you don't care about anyone."  
  
"Nor do I need a psychiatrist," I retort without stopping.  
  
"Not even yourself," he finishes quietly.  
  
I turn and glare at him so hard he cringes slightly. "What do you want, Potter?"  
  
"I think," he pauses as if to consider his words carefully. "I think you need..."  
  
"Need what?" I am standing inches away from him, my fist shaking with the effort of not swinging it. "What could you possibly give me, Potter?" I ask, viciously.  
  
His eyes lower and his shoulders hunch slightly. It is unbearable, like watching a dog being hit by its master. Leaning in, I take his bottom lip into my mouth and pull it gently. His mouth opens slowly and allows me in to trace its roof with my tongue. I wait to feel a shiver run through his body before pulling back.  
  
Listening to the rugged pace of his breath, I place my mouth so close to his ear he can feel my breath.  
  
"Now fuck off, Potter." I turn and leave, sweeping my cloak behind me. 


	4. chapter four

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
you'll never know, dear  
  
just how much I loved you  
  
you'll probably think this was  
  
just my big excuse  
  
- ani di franco  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
My room is devastatingly empty when I return. I lower myself to the bed and stare listlessly at the ceiling.  
  
There are huge holes in my mind I am struggling to fill with logic. None of today seems to connect in any realistic way, and that is frightening. I have a sense of losing the grip on my own life.  
  
I have never been so ashamed of my own brutality. But then, I have never before stared it directly in the face. I can't stop seeing Weasley's disfigured features.  
  
And then the Old Man and his sidekick Hero Boy fly in to save the day. There must have been something in it for them.  
  
Why can't they just leave me alone?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Somebody is knocking on my door.  
  
I groan and roll over. When did I fall asleep? My head feels as though it has been filled with cotton wool.  
  
Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.  
  
"Fuck off," I moan into my pillow. Let me sleep...  
  
"Malfoy," I hear. "Malfoy, open the door." There is a metallic jingle of keys, and the lock clicks.  
  
"Bloody hell..." I sit up just in time to see Cho Chang swing the door open. Behind her, Snape lurks in the shadows holding his keys. Stupid git let her in.  
  
"Prefect's meeting, Teacher's Common Room, right now," she orders. I blink stupidly.  
  
"They had to send the Head Girl just for that?"  
  
"Now, Malfoy!" she barks, and disappears through the door again.  
  
I glance up at the clock as I am pulling my boots on. 4:30 am! What the fuck do they want now?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
The corridors are empty and silent, and so cold I have difficulty lifting my legs. Snape marches ahead of me, cloak streaming, like some kind of Grim Reaper. His strides are so huge that even my long legs have to trot to keep up. My mind is blurred with the early morning wake up and I'm having trouble remembering where I'm going, or why, or who I am. Maybe this is my sanction for yesterday's incident. Snape was always one for cruel and unusual punishment.  
  
Snape halts so suddenly I can hear his boots squeak against the floor. Pulling out his Master keys, he fiddles with the door handle for a moment before it slides open. A warm glow spills out of the room and spreads its heat across my cheeks as I step inside and close the door behind me.  
  
The Common Room is lit with the homely glow of its fireplace and someone has conjured a circle of deep armchairs close to its warmth. Seated already is the Headmaster with the Heads of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff, next to which is the Head Boy and Girl, and finally the seven other Prefects. Snape moves to sit with the teachers as I take the final armchair, wondering briefly if I can get away with a discreet nap.  
  
"Thank you all for attending," Dumbledore says without preamble. Oh no, sir, thank you for making me. "As you are all aware, we have been in close contact with the Ministry of Magic over the past few months..."  
  
My eyes are drawn around the room to the two Gryffindor Prefects. Granger is staring at Dumbledore with rapt attention, as if he holds the secrets to the world in his words, but Potter looks as though he is about to go back to sleep. His head sags on his chest, his hair falling forward to cover his scar.  
  
McGonagall is standing to speak now. Dumbledore's pliant right-hand puppet. I try to tune out her rambling.  
  
"Last night, there was a major attack on the Ministry, and..."  
  
My head jerks up - this is it, this is what they've been waiting for. The Dark Lord's made his first move.  
  
"In light of the situation, the school will be closed indefinitely..."  
  
There is a collective gasp from the students; this aspect was unexpected.  
  
"All students will have the option of remaining or leaving for the time being, and all parents will be informed..."  
  
My stomach sinks.  
  
"The rest of the school will be informed at this morning's breakfast," McGonagall finishes.  
  
The room is suffocated in a heavy silence. Slowly, Justin Finch-Fletchley lifts his head.  
  
"Why have you told us first?" he asks, speaking for all of the students.  
  
"Those of you here who choose to stay," Dumbledore replies, "will be fundamental to the preparation of Hogwarts defenses and daily functioning. It is vital that the inner group of the school's administration, that is all of you here, be informed of developments every step of the way if we are to hold together."  
  
Potter's pale face is staring at me from across the room. Those of us that choose to stay. Those of us that have a choice. 


	5. chapter five

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
you'll never know, dear  
  
just how much I loved you  
  
you'll probably think this was  
  
just my big excuse  
  
- ani di franco  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I don't move as the rest of the group files out the door and back to their dorms to sleep. There is a heavy weight in my chest, and I am suddenly angry with myself for procrastinating for so long. If I'd only considered my options earlier then maybe I would have some left right now. I clench my hands to stop them shaking.  
  
The fire is dying, now. Occasionally a small flame licks the edges of the glowing embers, but the Common Room has become dim and close, damp like a sauna. I pull my knees to my chest and wriggle deep into the armchair. As a small child, I would nestle into a deep chair just like this. It stood solitary in the library where my Mother's screams could not be heard. A soft whimper escapes my lips at the memory.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
My reflexes are lightning-fast as I leap out of the chair and brandish my wand at the speaker. Firelight glints off glass in the darkening space.  
  
"Fuck, Potter." My wand drops to my side but I can still feel the blood pounding against my temples. I wait for the boy to speak but he sits in shadow silently. It unnerves me to see his glasses and not his eyes.  
  
"What are you still doing here?" I ask, finally. His silence grates against me.  
  
"Thinking."  
  
I snort, attempting to regain my composure. "You?"  
  
He ignores my derision. "Are you going to stay or go?"  
  
"What?" He has caught me off-guard again.  
  
"At Hogwarts."  
  
Oh. "I don't really have much choice in the matter."  
  
"Yes, you do!" He is standing, body tensed.  
  
How can one who speaks so strongly be so naive? I lower my head and allow my torso to sink to the floor, hiding the tears that squeeze themselves out uninvited. What will be left of your innocent faith at the end of all of this? What will be left of you?  
  
There are boots in front of me suddenly, knees straddling my legs, arms forcing themselves under my own. He holds my shaking body, croons to me softly as though I am a child. It makes it all somehow hurt that much more, I can't stop, the sobs are racking my body so hard I can barely breathe.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Sweet boy, gentle boy. We sit side by side and watch the morning sunlight creep across the floor. It is almost breakfast time, soon Dumbledore will be bringing his grave news to the Great Hall; however, the school outside of this room seems like another world right now.  
  
His eyes are closed, but I know he is pretending. I tug gently on a lock of black hair and his mouth lifts at the edges. Being alone with him now, pressing my lips against his neck, it makes the pain in my chest sharpen. How much longer do I have?  
  
I have watched you so long. Wanted you. Wanted to be you. Wanted your friends, your life, your courage, your happiness. The you I have constructed in my head - a you without fear or hate, without violence or lies. This you is everything I cannot be.  
  
I speak none of this aloud. In fact, I have not said a word since you sat down. I cannot afford to sink into heartfelt truths.  
  
Is this the wrong attitude? Surely it is better to be a dead lover than a dead coward? I have spent my life strutting cowardice.  
  
I lean down to his ear, tickle my breath against its skin in such a familiar way. "I love you," I whisper into it. My heart pauses in its rhythm.  
  
His head twists towards mine, smiling, and I can breathe again. He leans forward, hesitantly, and nervous lips seek mine. I shiver with the exquisite beauty of the moment. I have surprised even myself.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
We are walking slowly to the Great Hall for the remainder of breakfast when he tugs on my elbow.  
  
"If you stay," he pauses to glance at me, "they can protect you here."  
  
I open my mouth to dissent, but we are already standing before the massive doors, Dumbledore's voice seeping through the wood. I pull him into a short, intense kiss before moving away silently to the entrance above the dungeons. 


	6. chapter six

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
and if I tell you  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
what will happen  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
will you listen?  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
- frou frou  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
Breakfast passes slowly. My feet tap beneath the table as I grip my spoon tightly with bloodless knuckles. It is a struggle to contain my fidgeting when all I want to do is leave and all I want to do is stay. I am more on edge than before; paranoia tells me not to let Potter out of sight, but I am tired of the discussions around me, the low murmuring of fear, panic, of plans.  
  
The Slytherin table is awash with agitation as the owls sweep into the Great Hall to deliver their mail. I look up and search them instinctively - there, I can see the Malfoy owl sweeping through the mass of feathers. I hold a piece of toast at arm's length and the bird snatches it from me as it swoops down without landing, a small envelope dropping onto my plate. The scrawl across the front is in my Father's hand. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I ease the seal open.  
  
Draco  
  
Your Mother will meet you off the Express tomorrow night. Clear your dorm, leave nothing behind.  
  
Congratulations on showing some brawn for once. However, your indiscretion does your family no service. I expect to hear of no such incident between now and your return to the Manor.  
  
L. Malfoy  
  
Nausea sweeps through my body. I fold the note carefully and drop it into my glass of milk, stirring the liquid with my spoon. Trails of black ink swirl upwards, staining the pure white.  
  
Looking across the Hall, I can see Weasley eating quietly. His face is clean and smooth, but I cannot dispel the image of blood and smashed bones in my mind. Surely no one deserves what I did to him. Not a muggle-lover, not anyone.  
  
He raises his head suddenly, and a jolt runs through me as he stares in my direction. There is so much hostility emanating from those eyes, I can feel the nausea return. They bore across the room into my own, his face completely neutral.  
  
A black-clad figure moves in front of my table, breaking the connection. As my eyes follow the torso upwards, Snape tilts his head to the door. I leave my untouched breakfast and follow his swirling cloak outside.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I halt in the doorway of Snape's office to take in the scene. The room has been completely cleared; the shelves are empty, the scrolls are gone, there is not so much as a quill, ingredient or potions book in sight. His desk seems to have shrunk in its state of emptiness, and he does not sit behind it but before the small fireplace.  
  
"Spring cleaning, sir?"  
  
He ignores my quip and motions to the chair beside him. He is grim, even for Snape.  
  
"Draco," he begins as soon as I am seated, "you are aware the train leaves at 8 o'clock tomorrow?"  
  
I had an inkling. "Yes, sir."  
  
"And will you be on it?"  
  
I examine him closely, wondering which answer he wants to hear. "Yes, sir," I reply, trying to mask the reluctance in my voice.  
  
He sighs softly, and folds one long leg across the other knee. I trace the lines on his face in an attempt to establish his age. His eyes sag at the edges and his brow is marked with deep furrows. He looks tired, defeated. Prematurely old.  
  
"Draco," he says finally, "I want you to understand that there are...other options."  
  
I tense unnoticeably. This is dangerous territory to walk through, especially following one whose motives are hidden.  
  
He leans forward in his chair and his eyes are intense. He pulls his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing his left forearm. The Dark Mark stains his skin like a bruise, and it is glowing with the Dark Lord's summon. I feel repulsed by it.  
  
"Why are you showing me this?" I demand, suddenly tired. "I know what you are."  
  
"There are some things you don't know, Draco." He is staring at the tatoo, his mark like that of branded cattle. I wish he would pull his sleeve back over it. His eyes meet mine again.  
  
"Draco," he sighs, and drops his sleeve, "I am working for Dumbledore. For the ministry."  
  
I do not react. Nothing is quite connecting right now.  
  
"I am an insider, a sort of spy, working to bring the Death-Eaters down."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
It is already growing dark outside when I eventually leave Snape's office, but instead of returning to the Slytherin dorms I instinctively make my way upstairs. In the Entrance Hall I find what I am looking for; a small figure leaning against the wall, fidgeting with his glasses. I clear my throat and his head cranes towards me. Silently, he ascends a series of unfamiliar staircases, glancing behind every few minutes to ensure I am trailing at a safe distance. Needlessly so, as the icy corridors of the castle are already deserted. Eventually I follow him into an empty classroom, where he mutters a warmth spell before shutting the door behind me.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
"You've got to be kidding."  
  
His face is an angry crimson, his eyes wide. I am already regretting telling him. Maybe if I'd just left...  
  
"Snape does it," I put in unconvincingly.  
  
"Yes, and look at him!" He is shouting now. Practically foaming at the mouth.  
  
"Malfoy," he says, softer, "do you have any idea what they'll do to you?"  
  
I shake him off my arm, frustrated. "Don't be a tit, Potter. I grew up with it."  
  
"Then how the fuck can you want this?" I've never heard him swear before. It's not very becoming.  
  
"I have never done anything, Potter. I need to do this." He stares at me the way people stare at lunatics. "Why?"  
  
"I need..." I pause to consider my words more carefully. "I need to stop making excuses for myself. I need to stop being like my father."  
  
He snorts derisively. "Oh, what a load of crap -"  
  
"No!" I yell, "It's not a load of crap! I lie and I hate and I hurt people, I bashed the shit out of your best friend, Potter! Bloody hell," I am quiet again, "I'm him."  
  
He turns away from me, walks over to the window. It is dim in this room, and outside I can see tiny white flakes float and spin by the glass. He presses his forehead against the pane and fog pools out with his breath. The pain inside me is fresh, an open wound again.  
  
"Harry..." I try to move towards him but my legs are lethargic, my steps slow. "I have to." How can I explain this to a boy who sees the world in black and white when my eyes are grey?  
  
I slide my hands around his waist and press against him so tightly I can't breathe.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I watch the hand of the clock move slowly past the twelve.  
  
"It's one am." I shake Harry gently off my arm. "We'd better go."  
  
He blinks owlishly and I press my lips against his brow, his cheekbones, his nose. I am leaving in barely seven hours. He is beginning to wake up, moving into my mouth more demandingly. Only seven hours...  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
We creep through the empty Slytherin Common Room guiltily, like criminals, and move into the dark hallway with stifled laughter. In front of the door to my dorm, Harry pulls me down to his face and runs his tongue across my teeth then down my neck. I nip at his ear and move one hand under his jumper and shirt, the other hunting for the doorknob behind me. He jolts as my cold hand runs over his smooth warm abdomen and up to tug gently at a nipple. He laughs quietly against my skin as the door clicks open and we stumble inside.  
  
I use both my hands to grip his hips as I move back into his mouth, smiling. His lips and tongue are still suddenly, and his muscles tense beneath my hands. I pull back and his face is drained of colour.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
His eyes are fixed behind my head; I follow their gaze nervously.  
  
Above my bed, Morgaine's pink carcass hangs from the ceiling, dripping slowly. She has been completely skinned. Behind her, a blood-spattered wall spells out the word "TRAITOR". 


	7. chapter seven

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters (except for Morgaine) belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
and if I tell you  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
what will happen  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
will you listen?  
  
(lover alone without love)  
  
- frou frou  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
We sit in the hospital and sip hot chocolate. Pomfrey has left us in one of the many empty rooms as she speaks in low murmurs to Dumbledore outside. Harry's head is drooping towards his chest, and it occurs to me that neither of us have slept for almost twenty four hours.  
  
Eventually Dumbledore enters quietly, apparently unperturbed that it is two am in the morning. He pulls a visitors' chair to the middle of the room and lowers himself carefully.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey has given her allowance for both of you to spend the night here. Will either of you be needing anything?"  
  
We both shake our heads. Pajamas seem an unnecessary luxury when all I really want is to sleep.  
  
"Draco, I have organised for the house-elves to pack your belongings. Your luggage will be waiting with Madam Pomfrey by the time you are ready to leave tomorrow morning."  
  
I nod, relieved I do not have to go anywhere near my dorm again.  
  
"As such, I will leave you to finally get some sleep. I wish you a good journey tomorrow, Mr Malfoy. Goodnight."  
  
It does not seem rude not to reply. I can barely summon the energy to form words. As the door closes behind him, leaving us in soft lamplight, I wonder that he did not ask what Harry was doing with me in the first place. Stupid old fool, probably forgot we are even in different Houses.  
  
I look over to Harry. He is already stretched out on the other bed, eyes closed. Placing my mug on the small table, I move to the edge of his bed and lean down to unlace my boots. I jump slightly as his hand settles on my back.  
  
"I thought you were asleep." I turn off the lamp before settling down with my back to him. His arm snakes around my chest and pulls me closer.  
  
"Who do you think it was?" he whispers.  
  
How do I answer that? Someone inside Hogwarts. Someone with their eye on me. Someone who knew of my hastily constructed plan. He waits for a reply before breaking the silence himself.  
  
"No one deserves what they did to that creature. Not anyone."  
  
Long after his breathing has deepened with sleep, I lie awake and tense, trying to shake the familiarity of those words. In my mind's eye I can see Weasley's bloodied and smashed face, Morgaine's skinned corpse, Snape's marked arm, and Weasley again, glaring at me across the Hall. The images dance through their sequence again and again and I squeeze my eyes shut just to block them out.  
  
Oh Merlin, what is happening to me? The paranoia is so fierce I will jump on any suggestion of treachery. Weasley is nothing but an annoying git of a muggle-lover. What could he possibly have to do with any of this?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I am woken a few hours later by voices outside the castle. Gently disentangling myself from Harry's arms, I move to the frosty window and peer down. In the courtyard below, by the steps to the Entrance Hall, the horseless carriages are gathering. Already students are carrying their luggage down the steps and boarding the small coaches.  
  
I turn back to Harry reluctantly. His head is buried into the pillow, black hair spread across the linen, arms askew. His glasses and wand are both lying unceremoniously on the floor. I place them on the table beside the mugs before leaning over the sleeping boy. As I smooth the hair back from his face, he groans in his sleep and rolls from his stomach to his side. Deciding not to wake him, I brush my lips across his cheek. This time he does not stir.  
  
I pull on my boots and leave the room, trying not to look at him.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I am surprised by the number of students leaving Hogwarts. Common sense would suggest that the school would be a safer residence for most right now, but the train station is crowded with droves of them, at least three quarters of the student body.  
  
I am fighting my way through a mass of second years when I spot the tall silhouette of Snape entering the last carriage. Now I understand; he cleared his office because he was expecting to leave. I think of the empty shelves -- maybe he wasn't planning on coming back?  
  
On the train I find an empty compartment and slide my bags onto the rack. I settle down into the seat, pulling my legs up and leaning my head against the window. I have watched the scenery on this trip for the last five years; what I need now is sleep.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
When I step off the train bleary-eyed that night, a tall blonde woman is standing behind the crowd, arms folded across her chest. She looks even more detached than usual, like the people they admit to psychiatric hospitals, and I feel a pang of guilt for wishing she was somebody else's mother. I am sad for this woman, the way people feel sad for stray animals without really wanting to touch them.  
  
I'm also frightened to see her, because it means I really am going home.  
  
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END OF PART ONE  
  
keep reviewing, people, so PART TWO can spread its wings and fly! -- suggestions are especially welcome 


	8. PART TWO: chapter eight

Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  
Disclaimer----------------all characters (except for Morgaine) belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
thanks to all reviewers!  
  
as suggested, I have re-read the previous chapters and fixed the errors (as many as I could find, anyway)  
  
as for the Prefect's having their own room, thanks for pointing out my mistake *Tomherns*. Obviously I won't be changing it now, but my apologies for the error. If that was in OotP, I haven't read it yet, so yeah. Sorry about that!  
  
*rissa* --- I know, pretty predictable eh? :D as long as you are still enjoying it...  
  
thank you's to all -- i love knowing somebody is actually reading it.  
  
NB. Part Two is set eight or nine months after Part One.  
  
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come and rescue me  
  
in the water deep  
  
careful now, don't lose your end  
  
the road ahead is clear again  
  
though i haven't found it yet...  
  
- powderfinger  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
The days grow shorter and darker as summer moves into autumn. I watch leaves brown and detach from their branches to join the rotting mass of foliage coating the dirt. I hate this season. It creeps across the ground stealthily, leaving carcasses of nature in its wake. It consumes life, and I feel like a skeleton before it.  
  
I lean against the chill glass and watch the men lower her into the ground. The shining coffin disappears slowly under shoveled dirt and becomes a part of the earth, forgotten with every weed that will shoot through the surface above it. When they move away, they leave a small cross marking the burial site. It is of clean, unmarked wood, anonymous and obscure. This is as close as I will get to a farewell, for now at least.  
  
My mother took many months to die. It was more like watching somebody gradually fade into their surroundings. Her face thinned and lengthened, her skin became a permanent soggy white as if after a long bath. After a time, she no longer attended meals, and greeted me as Lucius from her bed. As her mind grew increasingly confused, her body decayed like a fallen leaf.  
  
She had not been moved from her bed when I was summoned. With the quilts pulled back, her body was tiny and shriveled with illness, looking so much older than she was. I could not even move close to the corpse. I could not kiss that...thing...goodbye.  
  
Now it is too late; she already lies among the worms and beetles and mildew.  
  
My chest tightens unexpectedly, but I swallow it down. I can increasingly feel my own weakness threatening to break free, a loss of control over my own exhausted body. I wrap my emotions tightly in a growing knot, suppressed only by my own detachment. I cannot be anything else if I hope to remain unaffected, uncontaminated by my surroundings.  
  
My life moves slowly now, but I continue to tread the thin rope between here and the dirt below. I cling onto the thought that one day I will not be in Malfoy Manor but somewhere far away from my father and his dark cults. This hope holds my own demons at bay for a time, at least.  
  
I have not contacted Harry. I would risk more than my own life by doing so. I hold him in the place inside my mind yet untainted by blood and hatred. It is a closed box I do not visit for fear of losing its contents. It is enough to know the memory is there.  
  
Life stretches in front of me in grey, monotonous months. I've no idea how long I will be dragged through this situation. This could be a small mercy -- maybe I would not like the answer.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
That night I dream through the heavy, dark hours.  
  
I am watching a narrow and smooth train speed through black cloud along invisible tracks. Just as I wonder where an empty train would be going, a thousand pale faces appear at the windows. They bang their fists against the glass and tug at their long blonde hair, all the while screaming silently, mouths open like fish. Their heads turn in unison as if pulled by strings, and I follow their gaze to the front of the train. Standing solitary in the darkness is a small, familiar figure, glasses flashing in the train's headlights.  
  
"Harry!" I scream to him, and his head turns slowly towards me.  
  
Suddenly, he has disappeared and I am the one standing in front of the train. I try to lift my legs, but my body is gripped with inertia, and the headlights are getting brighter. I wonder that I cannot hear the wheels grind against the track or the whistle tear through the air. The train is silent and sleek as it bears down on me.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
I wake gasping for air. It is like fighting my way to the surface of a deep, cold lake. My pillow is damp and my eyes are streaming. My mother's screaming face stains my mind. 


End file.
